Published in Overland Issue Print Issue 198 Autumn 2010 · Main Posts / Writing A souqi Maysoon Elnigoumi As I listen to you In a common peculiar mood Something within wants to kill you Hunt down gazelles galloping from your eyes I say and I am wise These are not days for gazelles Or is it a dark mind? Damp, dense And what is poetry? Trash And a bit of rhyme And the hidden symbols of a poem Are nothing but mice traps With cheap cheese, Or is it a dense mind? Damp, dark How did I come to this my love? Vile! Vile! All forbidden! Something within wants to kill you And all gazelles galloping from your eyes My love she of stinking feet Dipped her toes into my waters And all fish rose to the surface Yet there is tenderness within Had I died before I wrote poetry And all this trash How did I come to this my love? Come! Maysoon Elnigoumi Maysoon Elnigoumi lives in Sydney and writes poetry and articles on literature, music and arts, some of which have appeared in Sudanese newspapers. More by Maysoon Elnigoumi Overland is a not-for-profit magazine with a proud history of supporting writers, and publishing ideas and voices often excluded from other places. If you like this piece, or support Overland’s work in general, please subscribe or donate. Related articles & Essays First published in Overland Issue 228 25 May 202326 May 2023 · Main Posts The ‘Chinese question’ and colonial capitalism in New Gold Mountain Christy Tan SBS’s New Gold Mountain sets out to recover the history of the Gold Rush from the marginalised perspective of Chinese settlers but instead reinforces the erasure of Indigenous sovereignty. Although celebrated for its multilingual script and diverse representation, the mini-TV series ignores how the settlement of Chinese migrants and their recruitment into colonial capitalism consolidates the ongoing displacement of First Nations peoples. First published in Overland Issue 228 23 February 202324 February 2023 · Writing From work to text, and back again: ChatGPT and the (new) death of the author Rob Horning Generative models extinguish the dream that Barthes’s Death of the Author articulates by fulfilling it. Their ‘tissue of signs’ seems less like revolution and more like the fear that AI will create a recursive postmodern nightmare world of perpetual sameness that we will all accept because we no longer remember otherwise or how to create an alternative.
